For Royai Week 2015
by LadyAureliana
Summary: Just something I wrote on impulse after discovering it is Royai Week 2015. Rated T because some are suggestive. (The first three are very short drabbles. The rest are longer one-shots.)
1. The Dreams That Keep Her Sane

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** This is a rather last-minute post because I just discovered it is Royai Week 2015. I realize this one is late. Just wrote it on an impulse so it's shorter than it otherwise might be. First prompt was 'Dreams.'

* * *

 **The Dreams That Keep Her Sane**

She usually has big, noble dreams. They both do. They have these great aspirations that they will toil tirelessly to achieve, and they will keep working towards those.

Right now, however, her dreams are of a slightly different nature. Here, in this hellhole of blood, death, and destruction, these dreams seem closer to fruition and easier to achieve. She has to pull the trigger every day: shooting potentially innocent people in the hopes of protecting others. But it all feels wrong because, at least in this particular "war," they seem to do more killing than saving.

She wonders, "wouldn't it be nice to actually feel like a person for a while?"

So right now, she dreams of his arms, and the way they encircle her; of his hands and how they are so soft, and caress her in all the right places. She is mesmerized by the way he says her name when they are together, his silky baritone flowing all over her. She dreams of him living through this, of them surviving together.

They may not be great, noble dreams, but they will suffice until the next time they can be alone together. And they will keep her sane until their bigger aspirations can come true.


	2. A Not-So-Impenetrable Skin

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Written for yesterday's prompt "skin" for Royai Week 2015.

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 **A Not-So-Impenetrable Skin**

There are times that, to him, she seems bulletproof. But then he remembers that skin is just skin. It's not impenetrable because, if it were, then guns would have been an incredibly idiotic invention.

There are times when her skin seems soft as silk. He loves these moments because they mean they are still human. They are a confirmation that they have not yet been fully devoured by their own follies and the evils of the world.

Then there are other times, and he notices this most when he has stupidly gone and put himself in harm's way, when her skin appears to be tough as diamond; with a brilliant, cold beauty. It's these moments that he treasures most because they constitute an outward manifestation of her feelings for him. As much as it pains him that she has been used against him, since that means someone knows how they feel, he's still only a man and secretly appreciates these times she's defending him. And not just in the "she's saving his life" kind of way.

In these moments she is calm, calculating, and unreadable: to anyone but him. There are those that would argue that is how she always is, that it is her baseline. For him, though, it matters not. He can always see through her walls.

Then came the Promised Day and he was devastatingly reminded of how she can be vulnerable just like anyone else. He watched as her throat was slit and every atom in his body ached with everything that had been thought but never said. No, they did not _need_ words; that much was true. But that in no way meant that they could not or should not use them.

She speaks, and signals him with her eyes. He is immensely relieved and temporarily forgets what is happening. Then he is free for the moment and is thinking only of her. A split second later she is in his arms and his insides are screaming while he tries to convey to her via this slight physical contact, wishing that telepathy was real, everything that ever was between them before she dies.

So thank the fucking powers-that-be for shingese princesses who have mastered the healing arts because he was beginning to understand how his lieutenant felt during the battle with Lust. Thankfully, she is still alive and he can hold her, feel the skin of her forehead which he kisses, trying like hell to avoid looking at her neck. He will never again forget that she is not actually bulletproof.


	3. The Power of a Telephone Call

**Disclaimer** : I don't own FMA

 **AN:** Written for today's prompt "telephone" for Royai Week 2015

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 **The Power of a Telephone Call**

They call each other occasionally. Not to talk, of course, because they know someone is always listening. They cannot even use their flirtatious code since their personal eavesdropper would likely recognize their voices and know some game was afoot. Thus, they do not speak.

But he knows that she is on the other end of the call, and vice versa. She has said before that he has perfect timing; that somehow he always knows precisely when he needs to call. He contends that she has that particular skill as well. She always calls just when he most needs to be reminded that she is there, and alive, and still fighting with him.

They have even developed something of a system without realizing it. Granted, their system is rather more a lack of one. Their attempts at randomization are born of a necessity to survive and give nothing to the enemy. It works for them.

A call today is especially necessary for him because they saw each other in the cafeteria. She, ever vigilant and cautious, passed him information in code over lunch. It killed him a little that their relationship has been reduced to this. But she knew, and she called him. He says, "Hello?" a few times, and it is a blissful 10 seconds when they are nearly together. They are reassured of the other's presence.

Then, she hangs up, and it's over. He says, mostly for their anonymous listener's benefit, "Dammit, another hang-up." He sets the handset in its cradle and is still feeling a little euphoric. Not only is she OK, but they also, for a little while, circumvented the barriers between them. Try as they might, the enemy is incapable of burying them completely. Once more, he feels like he can take on the world.


	4. Gambling Problems

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Written for the "Understanding" prompt for Royai Week 2015.

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 **Gambling Problems**

"Hey, Hawkeye?" Breda said, attempting to get her attention. Her response was to look at him questioningly, waiting to find out what he wanted and wondering why he was not doing his work. The Colonel looked up from whatever he was pretending to work on at his desk. Somewhat nervously, Breda continued: "Want to join us in our poker game tonight?"

"Ha ha! Fat chance of _that_ , Breda. You know Hawkeye hardly ever hangs out with us," Havoc interjected before Hawkeye had a chance to respond. Turning to Falman, he asked, "How about you, Falman? Fuery? We've got me, Breda, and the Colonel: we'd like one more."

"No can do," replied Falman. " _I_ have date night tonight."

"Wait, you go places? And do things? I don't believe it," Havoc mocked. "Fine, be lame. So? Fuery?"

"Sure!" Fuery responded. He then hesitantly added, "I'm not that good though."

"Oh that's fine, newbie, no worries," the Colonel finally contributed. "I really enjoy winning money from other people. And, as you all know, I always win."

"Oh, not this time boss," Breda added. "I'm feeling lucky today. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna kick some ass tonight. I bet…"

"OK guys that's enough," Hawkeye interrupted. She did not yell but instead used what they called her "deadly" voice. She was particularly irritated that day as they had several cases that had paperwork due by 5 P.M. and her boys were exceptionally unmotivated. They were turning laziness and the shirking of responsibilities into an art form.

"Tell you what," she continued. "I'm supposed to be going out with Rebecca tonight. But, I'll make a deal with you all." They all shared looks then moved their eyes back to her with anticipation, and something like fear. "If you get everything done by 5 P.M., and I mean _everything_ , both Rebecca and I will come play poker with you."

Five faces eyed her in astonishment: this is the opportunity of a lifetime! They may never get her to agree to this again. They guys all looked at each other again and then, nearly in unison, said, "Deal." Then Havoc added, "Awesome! Three poker-novices. Maybe Breda and I will be able to win some money tonight too."

Hawkeye then turned her lethal gaze to her superior officer and, calmly, told him, "This goes double for you, Colonel. You are behind, and for me to hold up my end, you have to get completely caught up. I'm pretty sure the odds are good I won't be playing poker tonight."

At first, Hawkeye was feeling pretty proud of her manipulative powers. For one day at least, she had found a way to get them to work, and to actually be productive. They started working immediately and Havoc, Breda, Falman, and Fuery all managed to submit all their projects by her deadline. They even caught up on everything they were behind on.

Yes, Hawkeye had to admit she felt pretty confident. Just as she suspected, the Colonel appeared to be nowhere near accomplishing all his tasks. Not only did she cause them to finish everything due that day, but she was not even going to have to break her plans. She checked the clock and it had almost reached that magic hour of 5 o'clock. A few more minutes left and then she would be free. She even started thinking about what she would wear and which bar she and Rebecca should go to.

It was at that moment, at 4:58:59 P.M., that the Colonel looked at her. In that instant she knew her gamble had not been as safe as she thought. She could tell by the twinkle in his eye, his slightly raised eyebrows and the distinct lack of a smirk. Instead, he displayed the biggest grin she had ever seen. He waltzed over to her desk and dropped a gigantic stack of paperwork on top of her blotter.

"So, Lieutenant," Mustang smugly said. "We'll see you at 7:30?" Oh, he's been waiting for this for a long time.

Hawkeye looked up, made eye contact with him long enough to glare, and then picked up her phone. She dialed a number and, as all the men were walking out they heard her say, "Hey Rebecca, change of plans."

* * *

Hawkeye and Rebecca walked up the front steps at Mustang's residence at 7:30 P.M. They shared a look, then Hawkeye rolled her eyes and Rebecca said to her, "Hey, chill, would ya? I think this'll be fun."

"Oh, I'm gonna use this to my advantage."

"What? Finally gonna ease some of that sexual tension between you and that Colonel of yours?"

"First off, we may or may not…take care of that from time to time. Second, no comments of that nature in there cuz, well, it's the boys. Third, you're one to talk, Miss _Shameless Flirt_. When are you just going to end your own and Havoc's misery?"

Rebecca stared at her, jaw slack, for a few moments. When she finally found her voice, she said, "It's not that easy. I'm usually a first-move maker but with him it's different. I just don't want to fuck it up, ya know? And you 'take care of it' from time to time?"

"Yeah, well, Mustang and I have a lot of history. It's more than just sexual tension. It's complex…and interesting…and fun. I guess you could say we have an…arrangement." After a pause she added, "Are you gonna ring the doorbell or what?"

Rebecca rang the doorbell and, after a few moments, they heard steps approaching the door. It opened and they saw Mustang, with a smirk fixed on his face, who greeted them with, "Hey there ladies, welcome to poker night."

They walked in and followed Mustang to the kitchen, where the table was set up for the game. Breda, Havoc, and Fuery were already there and had apparently just been waiting on Hawkeye and Rebecca to begin. Hawkeye saw the look that passed between Rebecca and Havoc. She let a small smile creep onto her face and thought it would be nice if they got together. She then raised her eyes and caught Mustang looking at her wearing a strange expression; as if he was not entirely sure what was going to happen that night. He smiled then said to the group at large, "Ok. Are we ready to start?"

"Hell yeah, boss," Breda replied. He was looking forward to actually winning for a change. With three newbies, how could he not?

"Yep!" Fuery nervously contributed. He was anticipating losing most of the money he'd brought with him.

What's the game?" Hawkeye asked casually.

"We play Texas Hold'em," Havoc answered. "We haven't established blind bet values yet. We'll explain all the rules to you." Then, seeing her expression of feigned confusion, he said, "Don't worry, we aren't too strict on procedures."

"Oh good, I'm so relieved," Hawkeye replied, her words dripping with a sarcasm to which her "boys" were oblivious.

"Let's make it a little more interesting than just playing for money. How about strip poker?" Rebecca suggested. The guys apparently all assumed that she and Hawkeye had never played poker before. She could use that. Everyone looked at her, surprise etched on their faces. "Yeah, it's inappropriate. But we're all adults here aren't we?"

Mustang quickly looked at Hawkeye, wordlessly asking her position on the matter. She thought for a moment, and then said, "I'm in. Where's the beer?" Mustang, in shock that she agreed, slowly pointed toward the fridge and as she made her way towards it she allowed herself a smirk. Rebecca had apparently remembered how much money Hawkeye won playing poker with the guys in their class at the academy. This was going to be fun.

* * *

A few hours, and several drinks, later all six of them were still sitting around the table. Beer and liquor bottles, as well as pizza boxes and plates of snacks were strewn haphazardly about the kitchen. Each member of the party was at least slightly less clothed than they were at the beginning: some less-so than others.

Hawkeye lost her shoes, socks, pants, and blouse; fortunately she had a high-backed shirt on underneath it. She had to lose a few times to get them to start betting more bravely. Rebecca had reached the same point but still had the tank-top she had on under her blouse. The men, sporting expressions of astonishment, were all down to their skivvies, and feeling like they had been played. Oh, they were all going to work very diligently for quite some time.

The women were taking their time, rather enjoying (some of) the view. Looks kept passing between Rebecca and Havoc and everyone was pretty sure where that was going to end up later. For this hand, which they had agreed would be their last, it was down to Hawkeye and Mustang, of course. They were just placing their final bets and Mustang's last remaining article of clothing was at risk, among other things. In this ultimate round of betting, they had agreed to make a little deal.

Mustang wrote something down on a small piece of paper and passed it across the table to Hawkeye. She read it and had to fight the urge to blush while doing so. She looked up at him and said, with a sultry smile, "If I win, this will do nicely."

She then wrote her bet on the same sheet of paper and passed it back to him. He read it and she saw his pupils dilate and heard him clear his throat in an attempt to hide his reaction. She knew he'd like that. Scooting his chair a bit closer to the table, Mustang declared, "Fine with me."

"What the hell is on that paper, boss?" Havoc demanded while trying to tear it from Mustang's grasp.

"That's none of your damn business," he replied, moving the paper out of his reach. "Ok Lieutenant, this is the big one. Show me what you've got."

"You first, _sir_."

They revealed their hands. Hawkeye won, of course, with a full house to his flush. "Dammit," he said, thinking about how much he liked what he would have won, as well as all the money he missed out on with her being there. Everyone started gathering their belongings and putting their clothes back on, grumbling. Mustang stayed in his seat, taking his loss poorly.

"Maybe next time you boys will think twice before you underestimate us ladies," Hawkeye scolded, hearing all the bitching from her friends. "And Colonel, you can keep your boxers."

"Shit, Rebecca, you could have warned us Hawkeye was a card shark," Breda complained. "Poor Fuery may never recover from this. As a matter of fact, I may not either. I have seen way too much of my male co-workers tonight." As an aside to Mustang, he said, "So, boss, for the love of everything holy, please keep those boxers on."

"And miss all the fun of you guys getting your asses handed to you? Completely oblivious until it was too late? I think not," Rebecca countered. "Oh crap. Sorry Colonel, this place is a mess."

"You guys go ahead and get out of here. I'll help clean up," Hawkeye offered. "To start off with, sir, you may want to put some pants on and walk your guests to the door. Just a thought."

"Oh, right. Good call," Mustang replied. It seemed safe to stand so he pulled his pants on and, walking everyone else to the door, told them, "Thanks for coming. It's been…interesting. See you all Monday."

There then arose a chorus of, "Thanks boss!" "See ya, Hawkeye!" "I'm never playing poker again!" "Shit, I'm drunk." "Monday's gonna suck!"

When Mustang re-entered the kitchen, he started putting bottles and cans in recycling bins and moving dishes to the sink to be washed the next day. Hawkeye had already put much of the food away and was wiping down the table and counters with a washcloth. She put the washcloth in the sink and sat on the counter, watching him work.

"Not too disappointed are you, sir?" Hawkeye asked. "You did lose just about everything."

He looked up at her and smirked, answering with, "Well, I can't be too disappointed can I? I did at least get your pants off."

"Well someone had to start us off. You guys talk a big game but, when push came to shove, nobody wanted to bet anything," she said. "And you didn't even warn them about how good I am at poker?"

"Hell no. This was way more fun," he rejoined. "I can't believe you wrote what you did. Shit, I thought I was gonna lose it. You definitely succeeded in raising the stakes." Done cleaning up for the moment, he faced her, leaning against the counter behind him.

"Yeah, my thing was definitely better than yours," she teased. She grabbed the waistline of his pants and drew him towards her, wrapping her legs around him. "We can do both, if that'll make you feel better."

He smiled and she moved a hand from his chest and neck to run through his hair. His hands were at her sides: one on her hip and one lightly traveling up her waist.

"That is," she added, "if you are still OK with our little understanding. Because I am if you are."

"You mean the one where we can have _this_ ," he said, gesturing from her to him, "each other, everything, as long as we don't broadcast it?"

"That's the one."

In answer, he leaned his head towards hears and kissed her softly, exploring her. Then, her legs still wrapped around him, he picked her up and carried her into the adjoining room. If it meant he could be with her, he would do anything.


	5. Once Upon a Rainstorm

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Written for the prompt "Rain" for Royai Week 2015.

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 **Once Upon a Rainstorm**

Roy lay in his hospital bed after berating his Lieutenant for her conduct in the battle against Lust. She bore his remonstrations admirably: she could always handle his shit. Looking around the room, he wondered how much longer he would have to stay there. Not only was the food worse than lackluster, but he also ended up having too much time to himself. When his gaze ventured out the window, he noticed that a storm was brewing; and not too far off in the distance. Seeing a thunderstorm on the horizon always brought back a myriad of sensations.

Roy loved the scent in the air that heralded an oncoming rainstorm. He didn't necessarily relish when his Lieutenant called him useless when it did indeed rain, but he truly enjoyed the aroma that accompanied the downpour. He especially liked the metallic zing caused by the reaction of oxygen with an electrical current. It always perked him up. He thought it must go back to his time living with the Hawkeyes: this would also explain his preference for storms in the country as opposed to the city. He ended up being happier at his teacher's home that he'd anticipated. Surely it had something to do with his friendship with Master Hawkeye's daughter.

On the occasion that neither Riza nor Roy had any pressing obligations, they would end up sitting on the covered front porch together. At times they would read, others they would talk and joke around, and then there were the times they watched storms roll in. They would pull two cushioned oak Adirondack chairs closer together, share a large glass of iced tea, chat on and off, and just watch nature's majesty unfurl before them. The wind would start to whip her hair around and she would attempt to pull it back with a hair-tie. But, inevitably, some lovely rogue strands would escape and catch what little sunlight remained. The excessive heat of the day would begin to dissipate and they could sit comfortably for the first time since the early morning chill had faded.

They would reach for the glass of iced tea at the same time, fingers enlaced for a thrilling moment and eyes locked, and then awkwardly yank their hands back. Cheeks would redden, gazes would drop, and they would both say, smiling, "Go ahead…no, you first." Eventually, they would figure it out and he'd always have this tingling sensation that lingered in his fingertips and then coursed through his body like a shockwave.

He thought that, somewhere along the timeline of their partnership, he'd stopped thinking of her that way. Of whether this was initiated by a need to protect her or for self-preservation he was uncertain. Because, through the course of years, their fingers would not infrequently brush, one would pull the other from the danger zone, he would get a whiff of her perfume as she walked, or he would (rarely) catch her gaze, and each time he would still feel that shockwave. During their time together, he would get these sporadic reminders that, if anything were to happen between them, it'd be like fireworks.

His thoughts returned to the Lust ordeal and his Lieutenant. Some of the time that passed after they entered the 5th Laboratory was a daze. The dark room he and Havoc entered was wet and he could hear the drip of leaking water somewhere. A woman emerged from the shadows and they were surprised to discover Havoc's girlfriend. He remembered black talons where normal fingers used to be, then came a scream of pain, and then more darkness. He thought they were both dead. This was all still part of the blur. It was the next part that was vivid: sights, sounds, smells, emotions, everything.

It was Hawkeye that brought him back to consciousness. He heard a horrible scream and knew it was her. All his senses started rushing back, vying for precedence. The room was full of shadow, he smelled blood and the mustiness of their location, he felt fear and so much pain, heard the scream and more shouting. His blood ran cold. Then he heard the pop, pop, pop of a nearly unending sequence of gunshots. There were so many and all he could think was that Hawkeye was emptying every clip she had into something. In other words, she was in danger.

Somehow, he managed to move, keeping his hand on his skewered abdomen and doing his best to keep from passing out from the pain. He let out a small sigh of relief upon discovering Havoc still alive, and then took his lighter and knife. The metal felt momentarily cool on his palm as he did the only thing he could think to do. He burnt the wound closed and carved his transmutation circle on the back of his hand. All the pain started to meld into one giant excruciating mess and he stifled a scream, the smell of burnt flesh and more blood rising to his nostrils.

He made is way slowly and agonizingly toward the room that was the source of the voices. As he neared it, he could finally make out some of the words from what before had been a cacophony of shouts and noise. He could hardly believe it: Alphonse was yelling at Hawkeye to get up and fight? That woman didn't know how to _not_ fight. She'd given up? How is that possible? Hawkeye gives up for nothing and no-one. He passed through the doorway, saying something about how much he agreed with Alphonse's "no one else dies" philosophy.

He saw her: collapsed onto her hands and knees, head hanging, a pool of her tears on the floor. Oh, that black-haired bitch had to go. Roy Mustang saw red.

Later, after scolding her, he was surprised that she had no words for a retort. She just took the reprimands, probably taking all the blame with them. All he was capable of thinking about was how he had no clue what he would have done had she died. He didn't think he'd know what to do if she were gone. The last thing he wanted to do was lecture her about not giving up on life. However, he couldn't exactly tell his _subordinate_ that the idea of her death made him feel lost.

Still, part of him wanted and needed to give her some indication of her importance to him, rules be damned. The rational part of him tried to reiterate that she likely would not reciprocate. But, he resolved to do something about it the next time he saw her. He just hoped he could keep up his nerve until she came back.

The storm was getting closer and Roy could see lighting and vaguely hear peals of thunder. No longer lost in his thoughts, he turned his head to have a better view out the window. Even if she was not there with him, the rain always made him feel like she was. He was just dozing off when the door opened and he heard footsteps approaching his bed. He was about to see who had arrived when Hawkeye stepped into his line of vision and sat in the chair to his right, between the window and the bed.

She seemed slightly agitated, which was strange to him. Hawkeye was rarely nervous about anything. He hit the button to move the bed, and thus himself, into a seated position to reach her eye level. The sky was darkened due to the storm and the lights were off in the hospital room. Her face was a compilation of shadows but he was still able to discern its various features. He could hear the storm, smell the rain, and see her fixing her hair, getting comfortable. Then they looked at each other and their eyes met; each gave the other a small smile. Hawkeye turned to look out the window.

"Did you come to watch the storm with me, Lieutenant?" Roy asked, with a small smile.

"Not exactly," she answered. "But I did notice the storm coming." After a brief pause she continued, "We haven't been able to do that in a long time." She was still looking out the window and Roy was able to see a profile view of her face. Her expression was pensive, with a barely perceptible smile.

"Look, Hawkeye, about earlier…I'm…" Roy began. Turning to look at him, Hawkeye interrupted him.

"Colonel," she said, holding up her hands to stop him. She sounded the slightest bit apprehensive. They looked at each other for a moment in silence.

"Hawkeye, there's something I have to tell you," Roy tried again.

Her response was just to look at him as though she was trying to figure out what he wanted to say by reading his expression.

"Mustang," she said. Roy was taken aback: she hadn't referred to him by just his last name in quite some time. Hawkeye then opened her mouth as if she wanted to say more, and then closed it. Suddenly, she stood up and turned toward the window running a hand through her hair. Perhaps the storm outside gave her confidence because when she turned back around she seemed more determined. She took a step toward him and sat next to him on the bed, facing him. Roy's eyes widened in shock and he tentatively reached out a hand.

Then, everything he had thought about for the past few hours came flooding back into his mind all at once: every worry, memory, emotion, and sensation. He wanted to tell her things, but they both knew that words weren't always their forte. If he couldn't use his words, if she wouldn't give him the chance, then he would show her. And hope she wasn't going to kill him.

Roy lifted his hand to her cheek and saw her eyes widen in response. Spurred on by the lack of violent retaliation, he moved a few strands of hair behind her ear and trailed his fingertips down her neck, never breaking eye contact. Her lips were slightly parted and her breath started to quicken along with his.

He felt her hand glide upward to run through his hair then down to rest on his chest, bringing herself closer to him. Her other hand was on his raised arm. Roy could feel the blood rushing through his body; he relished being this close to her, touching her. He brought his hand back up to her cheek, his fingers in her hair, and slowly brought his face closer to hers.

Then their lips met and it was electric: the tingle that accompanied every touch turned into shockwave after shockwave. He had one hand in her hair and the other reaching around her waist to pull her closer to him. They opened their lips to each other in unison, as though they had done this a thousand times before. Every fiber of his being burned.

They slowly separated and shared a look, giving each other a small smile. Roy kissed her again, then said, "That's pretty much what I wanted to say." Hawkeye smiled and grabbed his hand. Well, she hadn't shot him yet.

* * *

 **AN:** This ended up being longer than anticipated. Not sure about a few parts so I may do some more editing later. I hope you like it!


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